Raging Fire, Brother Blade
by Millionth Battalion
Summary: As the War of Shadows takes its toll on Archanea, the fires of hatred and rage build up in Prince Marth and his cohorts. Frustration at helplessness drives them to make a decision, one that reveals a strange connection between a young girl and the war.


Prologue

A lone crimson dragon meandered about in the beautiful cerulean sky above the country of Altea, its powerful red wings beating at a leisurely pace. His legs were tucked in neatly against his belly, the picture of a dragon out for a pleasurable flight, but his twitching talons betrayed the tension and anger underlying the outward calm. His fierce golden eyes glared down in frustration at the lush terrain below, with its glittering, undulating sapphire rivers, dark green forests, and jagged, dagger-like peaks. Small villages dotted the countryside, and the dragon could discern their human inhabitants milling about, carefree despite the war that ravaged the Archanean continent like a wildfire turned into a world-consuming conflagration of fear, oppression, and hatred.

It was this war that had brought the dragon to this country, on a secret mission to aid his country. He was allied to the grand Dolhrian Empire, homeland of his kind, the Manaketes, and Altea was one of Dolhr's main antagonists. The dragon loathed this country and all that it stood for. It was Altea's first king, Anri, who had halted the dragon kin's spreading empire a century ago, and it was their current king, Cornelius, who hindered his race now. The Altean kings wielded an ancient, divine blade with power so immense it could slay any dragon, even the Dolhrian emperor Medeus, the Almighty Earth Dragon. If Altea was not eliminated from the war, then Dolhr would be powerless to stop the wretched humans. That was why the dragon was here now, to halt this lethal threat in its tracks by ripping off its head.

It was his mission to kill the Altean prince; King Cornelius was being taken care of by Altea's false ally, the traitorous Gra, while out on an expedition. The day when Gra would show its true colors was drawing nearer, and it was imperative that the dragon carried out his end of the deal immediately.

Sighting the sprawling, loosely connected houses and taverns as well as the central castle of the nation's capital, the mighty dragon began its descent. He folded his wings against his body and angled downwards, accelerating into a steep dive. The wind howled around his ears like a pack of wolves in a frenzy of bloodlust, tugging loose some of his scales and sending them whipping into the air like throwing knives thrown by an expert assassin. The dragon searched urgently for a suitable, covert landing spot, knowing that he could not alert anyone to his presence or the human warriors would be over him in a matter of seconds. His gaze fell on a small clearing deep in the forest beside the castle, a perfect site for his intentions. The dragon twisted his muscular body, opening his wings slightly for direction, so that the dive would take him right into the clearing. He wasn't afraid of being spotted by guards; the dragon was flying with the speed and direction of an arrow shot by an accomplished sniper, and he would be, to the human eyes, no more than an inconspicuous red flash. Such anomalies could easily be passed off as a trick of the eye or an apprentice mage's spell gone awry. Of course, the trade off of such speed was an extremely hard and uncomfortable landing, but the dragon didn't mind. He'd had worse when learning to fly.

The jade green blanket of leaves that marked the canopy of the forest loomed up to meet him with frightening speed, and with a pang of terror, the dragon realized he had misjudged his dive's angle. Desperately, he threw his wings and beat furiously at the air, veering to the side and barely missing a fatal crash into the trees. He landed on all fours with a bone-shattering thud, and he collapsed onto his belly instinctively to keep his legs intact. Earth sprayed into the dragon's face like a fountain, showering him with damp, upturned dirt and shredded grass. The dragon laid there, limp, his entirety jarred from the tremendous impact, trying to regain his breath and hoping that no humans were in the immediate vicinity. After a seemingly endless period of time with no alarms being raised or inquiring yeomen venturing into his demolished clearing, the dragon deduced that no one was coming to find him. He shook himself briefly, sending clods of dirt back to the earth from whence they came, and angled his ears towards the castle. His hearing ability was a thousand times more acute than any humans, enabling him to eavesdrop over great distances, and his ears picked up an urgent conversation originating at the castle ramparts.

"We think a dragon was spot wheelin' in the sky over the outlyin' villages, sir," a male guard was saying, fear evident in his tone. "What do we do?"

"Firstly, we don't panic," a deep, wise voice replied soothingly, "but we do keep up our vigilance. Have the archers ready, and have two fully equipped patrols pacing the ramparts at all times. Shift them quickly, too, so fresh eyes are always scanning the surroundings. Send a small party of horseback archers to the village near the reported sighting."

"Yes, Sir Jagen!" The dragon heard boots clicking against flagstones as the guard marched off, as well as the definite clanking of plate armor. The dragon growled deep inside his chest, irked; he wasn't used to dealing with guards without chain mail as their primary defense. It wasn't that his claws were not wickedly honed, or that he lacked strength in his forelegs. The problem was the fact that the curves of plate armor could often deflect even powerful blows, causing them to slide off harmlessly. The dragon was not used to directing careful blows, his preferred method of slaughter being a frenzied charge of berserk, flailing limbs. Fire breath would be better, but the armor was tempered under extreme heats to acquire maximum strength, so even that wouldn't be that effective. Besides, the area was filled with forests, and not even a dragon could withstand a full-blown forest fire. It presented a substantial challenge, but one that he would have to overcome later. As of right now, the dragon needed the Altean prince's whereabouts. His eras perked up again when the man named Jagen called out to a pair of guards.

"Captains Felix and Bryrn, come hither now!" Heavy footfalls followed Jagen's summoning, and the dragon leaned closer.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm assuming you've heard of the supposed Manakete sighting?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then you understand the elevated tensions and will not protest. I want you two to gather six extra guards and join Prince Marth's escort for his afternoon ride." The dragon tensed expectantly, hoping for more information.

"Yes, sir, of course. Cavalry or infantrymen?" one of the captains asked.

"It's not a hunt, so infantry," Jagen replied. "Preferably accomplished spearmen."

"Where do we meet Prince Marth and company?"

"At the western gate, one hour after noon." The dragon shivered in pleasure and anticipation; the guards and Sir Jagen had divulged all the information he needed. The dragon straightened himself, his thoughts racing. All he needed to do was replace one of the guards in the escort and wait until the party had reached an isolated area; then the prince would be his.

The dragon closed his eyes, relaxing every muscle and imagining the fire in his body was simmering down. As he did so, a feeling of soothing water flowing down his flesh came over him. The water caressed his rippling muscles, causing them to diminish, and stripped away his tough hide of scales. His hooked talons and mighty wings shriveled up, shrinking and weakening. He felt the savage, primal power in his bones leaving him, and his spine became less strong.

Opening his eyes, the dragon gazed around cautiously. He was now almost at ground level, standing on only two clawless, elongated feet. He was hunched over, his spine curved, and instead of gleaming, rigid scales, he had thin, gray, soft leathery skin. His paws were now like those of the humans, five fingered and tipped with tiny claws, and his body was also humanoid. His wings had shrunk, the muscle leaving them completely, reducing the once glorious appendages to wrinkled skin clinging to bone, and withered membranes that drooped like torn fabric. His tail had disappeared altogether, and his eyes were black and beady. A crimson cloak with holes for his wings was draped over his frail body, a deep cowl obscuring his still dragon like face from prying eyes, shrouding him in shadow.

His hand delved into the folds of his cloak, grasping a smooth, spherical stone. The dragon pulled it out, gazing upon it lovingly. The insides of the vivid red stone swirled like a vortex of fire, emanating vibrant energy. He held it up to the sun, admiring the way its crimson depths caught sunlight and caused the fires inside the stone to flare up. The stone held all of the dragon's ancient, draconic powers; it was what enabled him to be a dragon. Without it, he was stuck in this wilted, humanoid, weak, and despised form. It was this stone that represented the right his kind, the Manaketes, and their right to ultimate rule. Yet the humans refused to see all of this, not seeing the true superiority of the Manaketes, and they stubbornly resisted. That was all about to change.

Using the mottled shadows cast by the trees and the various undergrowths protruding from the ground for cover, the dragon made his way to the castle's western gate. He moved slowly and deliberately, constantly checking the position of the sun. At one point, he stumbled across a sleeping hunter's camp. This proved to be an immense stroke of luck, seeing as the dragon was able to pilfer the hunter's easily concealable dagger right from the prone man's pockets. In a flash of utter rage and contempt, the dragon decided to test the dagger's sharpness on the hunter's throat. The dagger slit the man's jugular with ease, spattering bright, scarlet blood on the dragon's cloak. The man was dead, without so much as a death gurgle. Filled with ecstasy at the weapon's quality and the death of the worthless human, the dragon set off once more for the castle, slipping the dagger into his stone pocket.

His stealthy advance led him to the western gate after what seemed like an eternity, but he was not to be disappointed. The two captains, Felix and Bryrn, were waiting outside of the portcullis with six extra spearmen. The small posse was lounging on the dirt path leading to the gate, engaging in friendly banter and laughing carelessly. The dragon's hearing was dulled because of his weaker form, but he could assume quite safely that the guards weren't discussing anything vital. The dragon hunkered down near a large, well-screened bush, settling himself to wait for one of the men to break off from the group.

His patience was rewarded untried; one of the captains, a squat, beefy man with tarnished armor, trotted over to the forest relatively soon after the dragon arrived. He was carrying a strange harness, possibly to diminish his considerable girth to a suitable level for meeting royalty, and the others didn't even holler after him. It was apparently normal practice.

The captain strolled fearlessly into the forest, whistling a hearty folk tune. The dragon trailed him sneakily, steering clear of direct patches sunlight. The captain paused in a small patch clear of undergrowth, removing his helmet, revealing a grimy, rough face that was unshaven, lumpy, and altogether unappealing; the dragon would certainly have no qualms killing him. The dragon drew his stolen dagger, being careful not to alert the captain with the rustling of his cloak. The man began stripping off his top armor and fitting the anomalous belt over his dirt streaked tunic that also bore remnants of the man's last meal, oblivious to the crouching Manakete behind him.

The dragon sat there, muscles tensed to spring, dagger clenched, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The moment came when the captain bent his head to check the belt's buckle. The dragon lunged forward like a snake, his right arm raised with the dagger pointed downward. Before the captain could even register that a noise had come from behind him, the dragon clamped an arm around the man's mouth, his other arm arcing downward to bury the dagger hilt deep in the back of the man's head. Blood sprayed from the wound, splattering on the dragon's face, and the man let out of muffled cry of agony that gone as soon as it was uttered. The dragon felt the man's body tense up, then relax as he sagged forward in the dragon's grasp, dead. Relieved that his plan had worked accordingly, the dragon relaxed his grip on the captain, forgetting too late the man's bulky armor. The corpse dropped to the earth with a resounding crash, and the dragon tensed instinctively, berating himself for his carelessness. He waited for five minutes to make sure no one had heard the noisy fall and was coming to check. Once he was absolutely certain that there was no nosy human headed in his direction, the dragon stripped off the captain's armor and donned it himself. It fit awkwardly on his thin body, leaving much room to be filled, but it served the purpose of hiding the dragon's wings. He fiddled around with the multiple straps and plates, adjusting them here and there to make his masquerade more believable. Strapping the weapons back on wasn't as complex, nor did it require as much dexterity. When he was satisfied that he looked the part, the dragon picked up the helmet and placed the simple conical affair over his head, He slid the visor down over his face and strode out of the forest, his gait confident. When the dragon arrived back at the western gates, the other guards looked impressed. The other captain sauntered over, a grin on his haggard visage.

"Looks like the fat minumizin' belt works better than ever before. You look kinda thin fer once, Felix," he said playfully, slapping the dragon on the back. The dragon hesitated, wracking his brain for the other captain's name.

"Uh, yeah, Bryrn," he responded, his voice low and rasping like brittle blades of grass in the wind after an intense drought. Bryrn raised a questioning eyebrow, and the dragon realized the captain was surprised at the sound of his voice. "Swallowed a bug," the dragon explained tentatively. The eyebrow rose to startling heights, dominating every other feature on Bryrn's face. It seemed to grow its own eyes and raised its own eyebrows. "It stung me, an' I had an allergic reaction," the dragon elaborated further, hoping Bryrn would fall for it. The captain's brow was now furrowed in confusion, and he asked, "Aren't you… not allergic to bugs?"

"Not on the inside o' my throat," the dragon answered, feeling stupid. Bryrn thought about it for a while, causing the dragon mild distress, but he finally nodded in understanding.

"Aye, that makes sense. Well, at least you don't have to talk much aroun' 'is Highness," the captain commented, and, after a quick glance upwards, added, "Speakin' o' 'is Highness, he should be comin' in about ten minutes." The dragon's heart raced at the news, and he licked his lips hungrily at the thought of sinking his fangs into the prince's soft flesh. His tongue met the blood that was still on his lips after slaying Felix, and the warm, metallic tang of the blood further reinforced his hunger. He would be serving his country as well as acquiring a good meal.

The dragon paced for the entire duration of the ten minutes, despite jeers from the other guards; they'd be getting their own soon enough. A sudden cry of "Make way for his Highness!" froze the dragon in his tracks, and he jerked his head up to look at the now open gate.

Six lightly armored cavalrymen were riding in two columns of three around two teenage boys, also atop horses. One of the boys was wearing the same chain mail and pauldrons as the cavalrymen that were escorting them, and he was garbed in a brown leather jerkin under the armor as well as white pants and riding boots. His light green hair was neat and short, and his eyes were as green as the forest around them. His face was harder than most other humans his age, as if he had been in battle already, but he still had the lightheartedness of youth about him. He was of average height with a lean build; the boy was obviously still going through the physical maturing process. A short one-handed broadsword rested in a scabbard attached to his saddle, and he was leaning comfortably on his saddle's pommel.

The second boy was obviously the prince. He had blue, lightly tousled hair that was slightly longer than his companion's, and a golden circlet rested atop his head. He wore a light blue tunic with a high collar and gold trim, and a navy blue cape was draped across his shoulders. The cape was fastened by a gold clasp with a shimmering ruby inlaid in the center. His pants were black, as were his fine leather riding boots. A brown swordsman's belt was fastened around his waist, and a silver rapier with an intricate basket rested against his hip. He was shorter than his companion and slighter in build; he seemed more lithe. Yet there was a confident air about him that hinted at an underlying strength and skill; the prince carried himself with the accomplished demeanor of a natural swordsman.

The dragon was struck by how young his intended quarry really was; he had been expecting the prince to have at least reached manhood. A brief pang of guilt caused him to inhale sharply, earning a curious glance from Bryrn, but the soldier's reaction didn't worry him duly. It was his reaction that did. Was he really up to murdering a young boy?

The dragon closed his eyes, forcing himself to picture the boy's ancestors slaying his own ancestors, and deep rage swept away the guilt. He opened his eyes, his resolve and fury renewed. He hated this stupid human, the dragon reminded himself, loathed the prince's very existence. He longed to hear the prince's screams of terror and agony as fire wreathed his flesh in a searing, deadly cloak and charred his bones.

"Attention!" roared Bryrn, snapping his heels together and straightening himself, his arms rigid at his sides. All of the other guards and the dragon imitated the captain as best they could, separating at the middle to leave four at each side of the path.

The cavalry escort stopped before the foot guards while the prince and his friend rode among the guards. The prince's gaze fell on the dragon, his deep blue eyes glittering with amusement, and the dragon realized that they were reminiscent of the ancient, beautiful waterstones. Once again, the dragon began to feel doubts about his mission, but another sharp reminder of his kind dying at Altea's hands set him aquiver with rage once more.

Bryrn marched over to the prince, sinking to one knee before the boy.

"My prince-" the captain began, but the Altean prince held up a gloved hand for silence.

"Captain Bryrn," he said in a calm, quiet, self-assured voice, "this is a ride for mere pleasantry. You needn't bow before me. In fact, I would do away with all formalities and just enjoy the day as equals." The prince smiled at the captain, who rose, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another.

"Milord, please," Bryrn said nervously. "T'would be odd for me and my men to do so."

"Then simply address me as sir and perform a small salute" the prince sighed resignedly, a frown playing at the edges of his lips. Bryrn saluted in acknowledgement, stepping back into place.

"Shall we start our trip then?" the other boy queried pointedly, adopting a bored look that didn't hide a teasing smile.

"Indeed, Abel," the prince replied, twisting in his saddle to grin at his friend. "I just believed clarification was necessary."

"Clarification is always necessary around you, Marth," Abel responded.

"That is because you are all low-minded buffoons," Marth retorted with mock haughtiness.

"Be that as it may, you still need to lead," Abel replied, gesturing at the path. As soon as Abel's arm was out of the way, the prince dugs his heels into his horse's hindquarters and broke into a speedy gallop. The Abel and the cavalrymen followed abruptly, the former calling for Prince Marth to halt. The infantry and the dragon set off after them at an easy jog, and the dragon allowed himself a feral grin. This was all too easy.

It may have been easy in the undertaking of the plan, but the execution of the final step was rather trying, especially on the dragon's patience. The path the posse took ambled along through the woods and outskirts of Altea's capital, never seeming to stay in either for an extended period of time and always staying on the fringes of the city's inhabitants' notice. Oftentimes, the suspense and tensity would build as they traveled deeper and deeper into the forest, and the dragon would be on the verge of transforming when either other wanderers would pass by or they would suddenly reenter the city, thus infuriating the dragon even further. It didn't help that Prince Marth and Abel were perpetually horsing around (no pun intended).

The aimless perambulating dragged on and on and, as the dragon's last nerve was being strained to the point of breaking, he finally snapped.

"Couldn't we at least go somewhere interesting?" he exploded, spittle flying from his lips and coating the inside of his helmet. All of the escort gazed at him in horror, and Bryrn glowered at the dragon with an expression bordering on apocalyptic rage, the captain's hand inching all the while towards his sword hilt. The dragon tensed nervously; if he was reprimanded now, he didn't think he could restrain himself from unleashing the furious power of his stone. Fortunately, the prince's eyes lit up with glee at the outburst. He apparently didn't care that the dragon had done so in rage; he just approved of the suggestion.

"That's brilliant, Captain Felix!" Marth shouted enthusiastically, wheeling his horse around. "Let's deviate from the beaten, trudging path and go blaze a new one!"

"Are you certain that's a good idea, sire, what with the supposed Manakete sighting and what not?" Abel inquired worriedly, his fear making him polite. The prince paused, deliberating over the issue of safety. His blue eyes roved over the guards, sizing up their ability in battle.

"Perhaps it wouldn't be overly risky to only venture inside the forest for a mere ten minutes," Marth suggested hopefully. The dragon bit his lip, praying silently for the escort to agree. There was a momentary pause as the thought was mulled over, but there was eventually a murmur of assent. "Then let's be off!' The prince urged his horse off the path and into the forest, and the dragon released a sigh of intense relief, plodding after him.

Their trek through the forest was extremely tense, for the humans. The horses were acting oddly skittish, and the dragon figured that the human scent of the city had masked his true identity from the animals before. Now, in the fresh air of the forest, they had finally deduced that something inhuman and dangerous was nearby. The horses' strange behavior was getting to their riders, and the humans jumped at every snapping twig. The dragon made a point of stepping heavily on every branch he happened across, reveling in their fear and shaking with silent mirth at their reactions. It became obvious within the first five minutes that everyone wanted to leave; even Prince Marth was beginning to show signs of discomfort.

The prince was opening his mouth to utter the command that would bring them back to the city when screams of pain and the harsh grate of metal weapons striking metal filled the air, causing the cavalrymen to nearly fall off their horses in fright. Prince Marth's eyes widened in horror, and he whispered, "Someone's mounting an attack on the castle." Savage glee filled the dragon; Gra was turning on Altea, which must mean that King Cornelius's demise had finally been brought about.

"We have to go back!" Marth said urgently, turning his horse towards general direction of the castle. The dragon bolted over to the prince, throwing himself in front of the high-strung animal, his arms spread wide. The horse reared back violently, neighing in fear and flailing its sharp hooves, but the dragon did not budge. Marth struggled to maintain his grip on the reins and retain control over the horse, but it was too terrified. It shook him off easily and bolted. The prince landed with a grunt of dismay and pain and laid there, stunned. Abel dismounted with lightning speed and hurried to his friend and lord's side, lifting him up. Marth placed a hand on Abel's shoulder, and, using the other boy to steady himself, got back onto his feet. The prince gave the dragon a withering stare, and he snapped, "What was that for, captain?"

"I can't allow you to return to the castle," the dragon growled icily, his hand reaching to his stone pocket. Marth's hand inched instinctively towards the hilt of his rapier as he replied irately, "Oh, yes you can. My men are fighting for their lives and my family's lives back there, and we need to aid them!" The other men could feel a fight in the offing, and they fingered the hilts of their weapons, but the dragon didn't care. They were his now.

"Don't you get it, brat?" he hissed. "Altea has fallen, and your father is slain. You should just die now!" Bryrn stepped forward, his sword drawn and utter fury burning in his eyes.

"How DARE you!" the captain thundered, lunging at the dragon as if to strike him with the sword's hilt, but the dragon whirled on Bryrn, snarling with primal rage. Taken aback, Bryrn stumbled backwards, giving the dragon all the time he needed. He thrust his hand into his pocket and grasped the firestone, releasing its power.

Fiery power coursed through his veins, and the dragon literally exploded outwards, raw, primal energy from the Times Before rolling off of him in pulsing waves. The dragon's strength increased to unprecedented heights, the might of his rage lending itself to the stone's energy. His wings burst outward with a violent, sickening ripping sound like flesh being torn apart by vicious claws, and he felt the fires of his dragon self filling him to the brim, empowering him. He opened his eyes to see the humans cowering below him; he was a true dragon once more.

Letting loose a vicious, feral roar, the dragon urged the tireless fires within him to well up and blaze forth. Orange flames spiraled out of his gaping maw, alighting on two cavalrymen. With shrieks of terror and pain, they toppled blazing onto the forest floor. The dragon snarled, turning his head to glare at his prey, Prince Marth. The prince had drawn his rapier and was backing away slowly, his eyes riveted on the dragon, never faltering. The dragon had to give the human credit for his bravery, but at the sight of the rapier, he curled his lip contemptuously; what did the whelp think he could do? The dragon sucked in air, feeding his flame, and prepared to unleash a maelstrom of licking fire onto the prince.

His killing blow was interrupted by a frantic charge from Captain Bryrn and his infantry. The captain brandished his sword wildly, screaming, "Run, Prince Marth! Run for our country!" The captain struck the dragon's paw with his sword, cleaving off some scales, and the prince hesitated, his conflicting emotions showing. His decision was made for him when Abel, who had remounted in the confusion, galloped past Prince Marth and hauled him by the collar onto the back of the horse. Still holding onto the dazed prince, Abel galloped away, the dragon's scream of fury following them. A sharp flash of hot pain distracted the dragon from his fleeing quarry when Bryrn stuck his sword deep into the dragon's paw. The dragon snarled and lifted his paw to bring it crashing down on the defenseless captain, and he roared with triumph upon feeling the satisfying crunch upon impact. He felt the captain's body burst, blood and innards spilling out under his paw, and a violent bloodlust filled the dragon. He lashed his tail, smacking into the remaining infantrymen and breaking their necks, and dashed after the retreating form of Abel and the prince.

The chase that resulted was frenzied and vicious. Abel kept on veering towards the castle, and the dragon cut him off with searing spurts of flame. The thick trees prevented the dragon from overtaking them by air and hindered him on the ground; he would smash into the hard trunks and become disoriented. Abel and Prince Marth weren't faring much better. The horse stumbled through the undergrowth, scampered away from the fire in spite of its master's urgings, and reared in terror at every tree toppled by the dragon. Despite the chase's hindrances, the dragon could feel his victory approaching with every lunge forward. The horse was panting and frightened; it would soon faint from either fear or exhaustion, and he would have the prince.

The dragon was gaining on them; he could feel it in the horse's wild tosses of its head, its whickers of fear, and the desperation that simply oozed off of Abel and Prince Marth. He wasn't in range for turning them into a crackling conflagration, but he might not need to. An idea sparked in his mind, and as the next tree loomed before him, he didn't try to futilely swerve and miss it. Rather, he turned his head aside and intentionally crashed into it. The concentrated force of his entire body snapped the tree in half and uprooted the lower part, sending the broken half careening towards the horse and its riders. It landed before them with a crash that reverberated in the dragon's bones, and the momentum of the fleeing animal sent it straight into the unyielding trunk, and a sickening crunch filled the air. Abel sailed over the tree, screaming, and landed heavily on his side. His cries stopped abruptly upon impact, and he didn't get up.

Prince Marth was relatively lucky; he was flung into the tree, but he hit it at a safer angle than the horse and was somewhat cushioned by the animal's body. The dragon shook its head, clearing its mind, and advanced slowly. Prince Marth groaned, groggily attempting to stand and fight. His rapier had snapped in the crash, and half of it was buried deeply in the prince's thigh. The dragon's mouth watered at the sight of the blood welling around the wound, and he crowed triumphantly, letting loose a victorious spurt of flame.

He crept towards the weakened prince, his tail twitching in anticipation and his haunches elevated. He tensed his muscles for the pounce, and opened his mouth for the killing bite, his focus intent on only the prince.

In his excitement, the dragon failed to notice the thunderous hoof beats of a charging destrier rolling out a cadence of impending death, nor the war cries of a fearless knight sounding out death's violent song. It didn't even register in the dragon's brain when a black battle horse erupted into the clearing, a knight clad fully in spiked red armor atop it. The dragon only realized all of this when the powerful lance rammed home right under his cheekbones, with all the force and momentum of a charge behind it, and ripped through his flesh and tore his head half off in an excruciating flash of pain.

The dragon, collapsed, thrashing, his vision blurry, barely feeling the hot, wet mess that was spilling out of his throat in a gruesome collage of red. As he lay there, choking on his own blood and jerking in his final death throes, he thought only one thing: he had failed.


End file.
